


When we stop breathing (for each other)

by ifnot_winter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Incest, Introspection, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 14:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16621196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifnot_winter/pseuds/ifnot_winter
Summary: Watching his brother toss back a shot of higher-end cheap tequila, Sam lowered his eyes to the rum and coke he'd barely touched. His fake ID had proved unnecessary in the aftermath of Dean's smile, the bartender's hands unconsciously rising to smooth the edges of the coiffure she overdyed to hide the hints of grey, a light flush barely visible beneath the powder on her cheeks. Sam's fingers traced the scuff marks and trails of cold condensation on the ancient wood of the bar, wondering if his life could weather the upheavals of time and inevitable change with truer grace than his surroundings.+In the wake of receiving his acceptance letter to Stanford, Sam steels his resolve to leave.





	When we stop breathing (for each other)

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Notes: The title is taken from a line of 'Before It All Ends', a song by Kent that struck me as so very Sam/Dean.

Originally published 02-09-2006, the start of a project to move all of my ancient fanworks to ao3 and have one with it. 

\+ + +

 **When we stop breathing (for each other)**  
  
The bar was a dive, dim and smoky; another generic, faded Dean haunt, like a slice of the gritty lower-class answer to cardboard cutout Americana. Good old boys having a drink after a hard day at the grindstone, while girls whose girlishness had long since gone served drinks and second-hand sultry glances and took advantage of the wan lighting's ability to hide the lines at the edges when they smiled. Some ancient rock song, like a toned-down version of Dean's collection of outdated teenage rebellion cassette tapes, wove its way through the shadows and among the twists of cigarette addicts' silver exhalations, filling Sam's ears with a preemptive sort of nostalgia.  
  
Watching his brother toss back a shot of higher-end cheap tequila, Sam lowered his eyes to the rum and coke he'd barely touched. His fake ID had proved unnecessary in the aftermath of Dean's smile, the bartender's hands unconsciously rising to smooth the edges of the coiffure she overdyed to hide the hints of grey, a light flush barely visible beneath the powder on her cheeks. Sam's fingers traced the scuff marks and trails of cold condensation on the ancient wood of the bar, wondering if his life could weather the upheavals of time and inevitable change with truer grace than his surroundings.  
  
His gaze circled like a wayward raptor, cataloguing their surroundings in brief intervals like puzzle pieces, always inevitably drawn back to the only thing with true sparkle, tracing the unbearably clean lines of Dean's profile or coveting the delicate shades of shadow caught between his lips. He wanted to lick them away, scour with his tongue until the grit of all this rough Dean surrounded himself with had been swept away to reveal the fine cut of the diamond underneath.  
  
Closing his fingers around the glass, slick with the frost that was slowly sliding to pool on the paper coaster beneath, he took a small sip, the flatness of the coke and sharpness of inexpensive rum at war upon his tongue. He bit back the instinctive grimace, savouring this last taste of 'home' in the calm before the storm that gathered just beneath his skin, anticipating the conversation to be had with his father when they returned that night.  
  
He'd received the papers that afternoon, his one-way ticket out of all this, this fucked up chiaroscuro of a life lived on the fringes of reality and so many shades beyond the grasp of that much coveted and dreamt of 'normal'. He was through with living in the enormity of John's shadow, and this frenzied quest to assuage the madness of the loss of a woman he'd never known.  
  
Briefly he entertained the notion of asking Dean to come with him, a sweet pipe dream where his brother actually said yes and Sam's freedom was untainted by the ugly press of separation's edge into the places where the two of them were joined, doomed to a mess of scars no matter how clean and quick the severing. His breath snagged on the sweet ache of Dean's eyes shifting toward him, the arch of one dark blonde brow and questioning quirk of the full curves of lips that constantly taunted him with those dips of shadow and gem-glitter causing his resolve to twist and fade at the edges, just a little.  
  
He could see in his mind's eye the widening of Dean's eyes at the announcement of Sam's acceptance to Stanford, the quick blossoming of hurt like blood in the wake of a bullet, quickly staunched as inevitably happened with his brother's emotions these days, hidden beneath all of the badass toughness that was so put-upon and at odds with that pretty face. He entertained the fleeting fantasy of Dean not retreating behind the mask of his machismo, a chick-flick overdramatization with crying and clinging and begging him to stay.  
  
Thankfully, Dean would never forfeit his pride like that. Sam didn't know if he'd be able to maintain his resolve in the face of his brother's tears.  
  
"...Hey. Earth to Sammy. You in there, bro?"  
  
Sam blinked, eyes refocusing on Dean, expression showing shades of confusion. Dean's gaze was equal parts teasing and concern, fixed intently upon him, the lines of a frown apparent between honey-dark eyebrows. "Huh?"  
  
Dean smirked slightly, fingers playing with the rim of his full glass. A pair of empty ones stood beside it. Sam didn't remember him ordering a second shot, and wondered just how long he'd been spacing. "Welcome back."  
  
"What?" Sam frowned.  
  
"You were just miles away, dude. Nice trip?"  
  
Sam's reply was slightly delayed, and he covered it with a healthy swig from his glass, unable to stop the grimace this time. "Yeah."  
  
"So, you gonna tell me or what?"  
  
"Tell you what?" Watching Dean's hands lift the glass and bring it to his lips, following the course of the liquor across his tongue and down, admiring the smooth ripple of muscle in Dean's throat as he swallowed... Sam was glad for the hair he'd neglected to cut, the want in his eyes shadowed by messy dark fringe.  
  
"Whatever it was that you've been brooding about all. Damn. Day."  
  
"Nope." Relishing the way the brief flicker of irritation and curiosity intensified the green in his brother's eyes, Sam took another, more careful sip of the tepid mixture of bubbles and watery liquor, the ice cubes having thinned to a few curvaceous slivers.  
  
"Fine." Dean set his third glass aside and ordered another, flustering the bartender upon her return with a brief bout of flirting. He knocked back the shot, then slid off of his barstool. Sam's eyes followed the curve of his spine as he prowled over to the pool table, challenging a few of the regulars to a game.  
  
Sam pushed the dregs of his drink away and ordered a beer. Washing the revolting taste of the rum and coke from his mouth, he settled into watching Dean masterfully hustle much older men out of money hard-earned at the local lumber mill that was the central focus of their utterly unremarkable, ordinary lives. The highlight of their month was sure to be the hotshot prettyboy out-of-towner currently relieving them of a good portion of this week's salary, something to gripe about over beers in this very spot, years later when retirement had come and their lives had become even more mundane.  
  
Envying their simplicity, their stability and ignorance to the horrors hiding in the dark, the home they surely would return to when their wallets were empty; Sam fingered the creases of the carefully folded envelope in his pocket, the torn edges soft against his skin where he'd pulled out the contents and read them over twice to let the meaning of them settle.  
  
His resolve renewed. A kind of calm, like the mantle of steel his young self had so often fancied his brother, the heroic white knight, wearing when doing battle with the evils of the world, settled over him, and he took a healthy swig of his beer, enjoying the generic flavour against his palate. He imagined debating the finer points of Aristotelian philosophies with his peers over pints in some classy pub, and walking the paths of the campus his eyes had devoured in all of the pixelated glories of the virtual tour. Freedom was within his grasp, dancing like fermented hops across his tongue, intoxicating.  
  
And yet. Dean's brilliant eyes, the diamond-white gleam of teeth in the brief smile he cast Sam's way in the lull between games...his breath caught again, and he found himself smiling back, though the reflection of it in his eyes was wan.  
  
He swallowed the last of the liquid in his mouth, fingers pressing what would be bruises against the damp paper label of the bottle in his hand, imagining instead a wrist pinned to the scratchy patterned fabric of yet another cheap hotel bedspread, and all that lingered was the taste of smoke, and ashes.


End file.
